


Rosemary

by OliviaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:32:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliviaRose/pseuds/OliviaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's for remembrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosemary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duchessofwraiths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessofwraiths/gifts).



> I wrote this a while ago, and only just found it again, so, enjoy!

“No!” He yells,lights blaring bright, right into his eyes, as the door breaks and someone’s on top of him. He forces his head to turn. There’s someone else on her.

“No,” He whispers, when he feels the lukewarm blood on his outstretched hand, reaching for her. And he knows it’s not his own.

“No.” He breathes over and over and over again, her body cradled in his lap, her cold forehead against his own. Her breathing is faint, and he knows she’s fading fast.

“Lydia,” He cries, rocking back and forth.

“Stiles,” She whispers his name, more affectionate than ever before, and with great effort, pulls herself up to kiss him.

“I love you!” He sobs when she pulls away, smiling sadly.

“Everything is blurring together. Stiles,” He cherishes that last saying of his name. “Are we underwater?”

“No, Lydia, no.” And he wants her to hear her own name from his lips. He wants her to know she’s loved. “We’re not.”

“The pain isn’t going away.” Her eyes look hurt, and she speaks with the composure of a child, her lip wavering. He lets out another sob. “Am I going away?” She looked so pretty in that last bit of moonlight.

“No, no! You’ll be alright.” He strokes her hair. “You’re going to be fine.” And then he registers the wound for the first time. Gashes criss-cross her stomach, deep cuts forming hatch marks. Blood seeps through her shirt, or what’s left of it.

“Lies are so much better than the truth,” She laughs, then grimaces. “They always have been.” He hears someone swear behind him, and the dialing of a phone.

 

He was questioned later, but not so much later that he could not still feel her lips on his, or hear her pained laugh. She smelled like rosemary. Rosemary. Remembrance. He didn’t want to forget.

He was asked about who, what, had killed her. He lied, and said he didn’t know. He was asked if he had any romantic relationship with her. He told the truth, and said he didn’t know. He didn’t like how they referred to her. The victim.

They let him go, saying he was in shock, but he knew he wasn’t. They said he needed time to remember correctly. He remembered every little detail about that night. 

He didn’t want to think about what happened next. To her. He didn’t want to think of her cold and lifeless. Not of her eyes losing their spark, or her smell fading. She could have told him each stage of a body’s decay.

He found her jacket. She had left it in his Jeep. He cried, burying his face into it, smelling her. Clinging to the one piece he had to keep. 

And when everyone else brought flowers, he brought sprigs of rosemary. Every week he brought them, laying them across her grave.

 

He grew up, as most do, and got married. He married a girl who smelled like flowers, soap and the woods. A girl who had pretty brown hair. And he loved that girl, but part of him would always love Lydia.

When asked about the jacket hanging, untouched, in his closet, he’d explain that it was an old friends, and that he’d return it someday.

He never forgot to leave her rosemary.

  
One day, Stiles found himself telling his story, Lydia’s story, to a young boy who frequented the graveyard almost as much as he did. And the boy understood. He enjoyed the strange old man. And when Stiles was gone, the boy left rosemary on both graves, in remembrance of the old man and his lifelong love, the girl who never said it back. 


End file.
